


Up-Start Little Arsonist

by LapisAlba



Category: Fright Night (2011), Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Charley and Chekov are the same person, Don't ask me about the accents I don't know, Jerry lives somehow, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, No Slash, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24878974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LapisAlba/pseuds/LapisAlba
Summary: A brief vignette of what I think would happen if Jerry had survived Fright Night and Chekov (previously Charlie) and him had met in San Francisco.No Slash
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Up-Start Little Arsonist

**Author's Note:**

> Just a thing I've had in my head for ages.  
> If anyone spots any errors please let me know.  
> Cheers

Pavel Chekov was unashamedly late.

Well, maybe he felt just a slither of shame in between his bouts of unsquashable excitement and shivers of nerves. He’d just finished devising a new formula for the dilithium antimatter chambers and he couldn’t wait to tell Scotty about it. He had spent hours calculating the exact quantities down to seven decimal places and he was sure he had the correct variables for it to work. Scotty was going to be thrilled, hell, even Mr Spock might raise an eyebrow in unbridled excitement.

He quivered again in anticipation.

Looking round he crossed the road cautiously aware of the silent vehicles that glided elegantly down the street. He was on his way to Hikaru’s, the man was throwing a get together for the main bridge crew (and Scotty). It had initially been the captain’s idea to celebrate their first real shore leave since the Khan incident together. It was then discovered that no one, baring Sulu, actually owned a place that wasn’t more than Starfleet provided quarters. Hence, he was heading to the pilot’s house that evening.

It was rapidly approaching night time and the San Franciscan heat was waning with the evening shadows. A small breeze cut through the lingering warmth, chilling the air in preparation for the night.

As the navigator reached the alley that would take him to Sulu’s, his comm chirped.

“Chekov here,” he answered swiftly.

The was a slight shuffling sound and then the captains voice burst through.

“Hey Chekov, you alright? No like you to be late, where are you?”

Chekov smiled to himself, two minutes late and they were already gearing up to smother him.

“I am just in zhe alleyvay before Sulu’s, Keptain. I shouldn’t be more zhan-”

“Hello guy,” a low voice cut him off and he started in shock at the man in front of him. _Oh shit,_ he thought.

His throat constricted and he squeaked out an undignified, “Jerry.”

There was a buzzing from his comm the sounded urgent, but he paid it no mind, transfixed on the vampire he could have sworn was dead.

“You bet it is Chuckles.”

And then Jerry moved with the terrifying predatorial speed that Chekov remembered, pinning him up against the alley wall, one hand wrapped tightly around his throat cutting most of his oxygen off. The motion caused him to release a violent puff of air as he hit his head and he struggled to regain his lost breath.

He squirmed trying to get away and choked out, “But-I, you vere-”

Jerry smiled baring his teeth threateningly. His eyes were wide with adrenaline and they looked almost to be glowing in the dim light. He pressed a finger to Chekov's lips silencing him and tightened his grip further restricting the Russian’s airway.

“Oh, your little party trick worked but you have to do a lot more than that to do any permanent damage,” he said, his voice filling the alley in a suffocating velvet tone. He continued. “I have been looking forward to this moment for a long time, Charley. Seeing you again, watching your stupid little smile fall off your face. I even thought about what it would be like to drain you of life.” For a moment, Jerry just stared into the boy’s eyes, watching them crinkle with the need for oxygen. He moved in closer, so his mouth was inches from the younger man’s ear.

“I was impressed by your ballsy obstinacy though,” he said softly with a hint of vindictive resonance. “So, here is my deal. I will let you walk away from here if you agree to never bother me again. If you ever try that shit again and I'm talking about your little self-arson trick, I will tear you apart like candy floss. Understood?”

He leaned back so he was staring once again at the now red-faced Chekov. Casually, he swiped a claw-like nail over the Russian’s right cheek, parting the flesh like butter. Blood pooled out of it and Jerry sniffed his nostrils widening as he took in the scent. He flicked his tongue over his top lip and stared into oxygen deprived Chekov’s face searching for fear. In the pause there was a sinister breed of stillness. Then, slowly, Jerry leaned forward and licked the wound. Chekov pulled away in fear and disgust as he felt the wet rough surface glide over his face. Then the pressure on his neck eased and his knees started to buckle. Jerry sneered at him one last time before fully releasing him and sauntering off, hands in his pocket.

Chekov sunk to the ground, knees to his chest and back grating against the bare wall behind him. He took several long, gasping breaths and tried to control his heartbeat which seemed to be shaking his entire body. Small tears of shock made their way down his cheeks, salt stinging the still bleeding cut.

Footsteps pounded the pavement and like a bullet train the captain rounded the corner. His phaser was out and present in his eyes was the same wild look that anyone threatening his crew received. He scanned the alleyway and as he spotted Chekov, red faced and crumpled on the ground, Sulu, followed by McCoy and Spock, barrelled into the street. At a rapid non-verbal cue from the Captain, Spock continued past, heading in the direction that Jerry had sauntered.

“Pavel,” Sulu shouted barging past the captain. He skidded to a halt, falling to his knees next to the quaking younger man. Jim followed hovering over them looking around the alleyway for any lingering threats.

Chekov's head darted up revealing eyes blown wide with fear. He wiped his cheeks and gave the older man a shaky smile while running his hand through his unruly hair in an attempt to calm himself.

“I am fine, Hikaru,” he placated, his voice was rough. He went to stand, and McCoy pushed him back down with a hand on his shoulder.

“Yer not fine until I tell you you’re fine, Ensign,” he ordered, checking the younger man over with experienced hands. He prodded the Chekov’s neck lightly causing the Russian to wince in discomfort.

Jim looked around the empty alley once more, noting all the places someone could hide. Whoever this Jerry person was, clearly knew Chekov and had possibly been following him. What did not make sense was why he just left, seemingly without doing much harm.

“Chekov,” Jim paused, uncertainly. He tried again, “Pavel,” the questions stuck suspiciously in his throat. Before he could continue, McCoy interrupted.

“We should get back to Sulu’s so I can disinfect this properly,” the doctor said, moving his hands from Chekov’s cheek to the back of his head. “And please, try not move your neck too much. It doesn’t feel too damaged but that doesn’t mean it isn’t,” he instructed, face like thundering cloud.

Kirk nodded, suppressed the words that had been flowing through his brain and sticking to his teeth. He resisted the urge to bolt after Spock, the need to do something made his whole-body tremble slightly.

Sulu helped pull Chekov up and wrapped an arm around his waist much to the younger man’s chagrin.

“I told you I em fine, Hikaru, it is just a scratch,” he protested croaking voice raising slightly in volume. He tried to dislodge the helmsman, but Sulu just tightened his grip and eventually Chekov slouched into the hold.

As they made their way to the entrance of the alleyway, Spock joined them.

“I am unable to locate the man we heard through the comm, Captain. However; if Mr Chekov were to provide an accurate description I will be able to report it to the appropriate authorities and monitor further progress,” he reported looking as irritated as a Vulcan could look, which is to say his eyebrow twitched minutely and his shoulders appeared even stiffer than usual.

They’re gaze turned to Chekov who was, despite all expectations, looking fairly cheerful as he walked with Sulu and McCoy. Jim frowned at the sight. It was a disconcerting contrast to the darkening bruises on the kid’s throat and blood that still seeped ominously down his cheek.

He turned back to Spock as they got to Sulu’s door, “Check for security camera’s in the area and have Uhura analyse the audio from the conversation. I don’t care who we have to piss off to do it, just get it done.” He ordered grimly.

Spock nodded but did not mention that he had already instructed Uhura and Mr Scott to do just that.

Once inside they were greeted with a frantic Scotty, who had been trying to negotiate security feeds with little success, and an outwardly calm Uhura who, without prompting had assembled McCoy’s medical bag in the living room.

Sitting next to the Russian she carefully held his hand in an act of subtle comfort for the young man. He smiled lightly at her, only the dark shadow of worry in his eyes betraying his true feelings.

“What happened, Pavel?” the captain questioned kindly. Standing on the other side of the small room with his arms crossed he looked imposing despite his tone. “We know you know the man,” he added his face serious.

Chekov shifted anxiously, aware of the eyes that tracked his movements. He titled his head and stared at the plush blue carpet, it looked so soft and forgiving, so unassumingly comforting. He wondered if they would believe him. His tale was admittedly a wild one. He wondered if they would accept his story of a vampiric neighbour and the petrifying fight to the bitter end. He wondered if they would pity him for the loss of his temporary home. He wondered…

He wondered if they would hate him for letting his friends die.

Something tapped his chin and he flicked his wide, green eyes up to see Kirk crouched in front of him, the doctor at his side still rifling through his medical bag muttering to himself. He made eye contact with the captain, blue on green, and the older man smiled reassuringly at him. Chekov nodded slowly, as if he’d received new and serious information, and he began to tell his story.


End file.
